Women

I opened the door slowly and then kicked it wide with my foot. I looked inside. I had my steel but I didn't reach. She closed the door behind us.

"Come on in the bedroom," she said.

"Wait a minute…"

I ripped open a closet door and reaching in felt behind the clothing. Nothing.

"What kind of shit are you on, man?"

"I'm not on any kind of shit!"

"Oh Lord…"

I ran into the bathroom and yanked back the shower curtain. Nothing. I went into the kitchen, pulled back the plastic curtain below the sink. Just a filthy overflowing plastic trash basket. I checked the other bedroom, the closet in there. I looked under the double bed: an empty bottle of Ripple. I walked out.

"Come on back here," she said.

It was a tiny bedroom, more like an alcove. There was a cot with dirty sheets. The blanket was on the floor. I unzipped and pulled it out.

"$20," she said.

"Get your lips on this motherfucker! Suck it dry!"

$20.

"I know the price. Earn it. Drain my balls."

"$20 first…"

"Oh yeah? I give you the twenty, how do I know you don't yell for the cops? How do I know your 7-foot basketball-ass brother don't arrive with his switchblade?"

"$20 first. And don't worry. I'll suck you. I'll suck you good."

"I don't trust you, whore."

I zipped up and got out of there, fast, I went down all those cement steps. I reached the bottom, jumped into the Volks and drove back to my place.

I started drinking. My stars simply weren't in order.

The phone rang. It was Bobby. "Did you get Iris on the plane?"

"Yeah, Bobby, and I want to thank you for keeping your hands off for a change."

"Look, Hank, that's just in your head. You're old and you bring all these young chicks over, then you get nervous when a young cat comes around. Your ass gets uptight."

"Self-doubt… lack of confidence, right?"

"Well…"

"O.K., Bobby.:'

"Anyhow, Valerie wondered if you wanted to come down for a drink?"

"Why not?"

Bobby had some bad shit, real bad shit. We passed it around. Bobby had a lot of new tapes for the stereo. He also had my favorite singer, Randy Newman, and he put Randy on, but only medium-loud, as per my request.

So we listened to Randy and smoked and then Valerie began putting on a fashion show. She had a dozen sexy outfits from Frederick's. She had 30 pairs of shoes hanging on the back of the bathroom door.

Valerie came prancing out in 8-inch high heels. She could hardly walk. She poked about the room, staggering on her stilts. Her ass poked out and her tiny nipples were hard and stiff, they jutted out under her see-through blouse. She had on a thin gold anklet. She whirled and faced us, made some gentle sexual movements.

"Christ," said Bobby, "Oh… Christ!"

"Holy Jesus Christ Mother of God!" I said.

As Valerie went past I reached out and got a handful of ass. I was living. I felt great. Valerie ducked into the crapper for a change of costume.

Each time Valerie came out she looked better, crazier, wilder. The whole process was moving toward some climax.

We drank and smoked and Valerie kept coming back with more. One hell of a show.

She sat on my lap and Bobby snapped some photos.

The night wore on. Then I looked around and Valerie and Bobby were gone. I walked into the bedroom and there was Valerie on the bed, naked except for her spiked high heels. Her body was firm and lean.

Bobby was still dressed and was sucking Valerie's breasts, going from one to the other. Her nipples stood tall.

Bobby looked up at me. "Hey, old man, I've heard you brag about how you eat pussy. How's this?"

Bobby ducked down and spread Valerie's legs. Her cunt hairs were long and twisted and tangled. Bobby went down there and licked at the clit. He was pretty good but he lacked spirit.

"Wait a minute, Bobby, you're not doing it right. Let me show you."

I got down there. I began far back and worked toward it. Then I got there. Valerie responded. Too much so. She wrapped her legs around my head and I couldn't breathe. My ears were pressed flat. I pulled my head out of there.

"O.K., Bobby, you see?"

Bobby didn't answer. He turned and walked into the bathroom. I had my shoes and pants off. I liked to show off my legs when I drank. Valerie reached up and pulled me down on the bed. Then she bent over my cock and took it into her mouth. She wasn't very good compared to most. She began the old head-bob and had very little else to offer beside that. She worked a long time and I felt I wasn't going to make it. I pulled her head away, put it up on the pillow and kissed her. Then I mounted. I had made about 8 or 10 strokes when I heard Bobby behind us.

"I want you to leave, man."

"Bobby, what the hell's wrong?"

"I want you to go back to your place."

I pulled out, got up, walked into the front room and put on my pants and shoes.

"Hey, Cool Papa," I said to Bobby, "what's wrong?"

"I just want you out of here."

"All right, all right…"

I walked back to my place. It seemed a very long time since I had put Iris Duarte on that plane. She must be back in Vancouver by now. Shit. Iris Duarte, goodnight.

97

I got a letter in the mail. It was addressed from Hollywood.

Dear Chinaski:

I've just read almost all your books. I work as a typist in a place on Cherokee Ave. I've hung your picture in the place where I work. It's a poster from one of your readings. People ask me, "Who's that?" and I say, "That's my boy friend" and they say. "My God!"

I gave my boss your book of stories, The Beast with Three Legs and he said he didn't like it. He said you didn't know how to write. He said it was cheap shit. He got quite angry about it.

Anyhow, I like your things and I'd like to meet you. They say I'm pretty well stacked. Care to check me out?

luv,

Valencia

She left two phone numbers, one at work, one at home. It was about 2:30 pm. I dialed the work number. "Yes? a female answered.

"Is Valencia there?"

"This is Valencia."

"This is Chinaski. I got your letter."

"I thought you'd phone."

"You have a sexy voice," I said.

"You have too," she answered.

"When can I see you?" I asked.

"Well, I'm not doing anything tonight."

"O.K. How about tonight?"

"All right," she said, "I'll see you after work. You can meet me at this bar on Cahuenga Boulevard, The Foxhole. You know where it is?"

"Yes."

"I'll see you around six then…"

I drove up and parked outside The Foxhole. I lit a cigarette and sat there awhile. Then I got out and walked into the bar. Which one was Valencia? I stood there and nobody said anything. I walked up to the bar and ordered a double vodka-7. Then I heard my name, "Henry?"

I looked around and there was a blonde alone in a booth. I took my drink over and sat down. She was about 38, and not stacked. She had gone to seed, was a bit too fat. Her breasts were very large but they sagged wearily. She had short clipped blond hair. She was heavily made up and she looked tired. She was in pants, blouse and boots. Pale blue eyes. Many bracelets on each arm. Her face revealed nothing, although once she might have been beautiful.

"It was really a fucking miserable day," she said. "I typed my ass off."

"Let's make it some other night then when you're feeling better," I said.

"Ah, shit, it's all right. Another drink and I'll spring back."

Valencia motioned to the waitress. "Another wine."

She was drinking a white wine.

"How's the writing going?" she asked. "Any new books out?"

"No, but I'm working on a novel."

"What's it called?"

"No title yet."

"Is it going to be a good one?"

"I don't know."